


Put Your Back Into It

by Katlady



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, HEA?, Hording, Mental Illness, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlady/pseuds/Katlady
Summary: Katniss never thought that she’d be back. Not after everything that had happened, after everything she’d lost. When she left years ago, she’d never looked back, she wouldn’t let herself. But when she got the call two days ago that her uncle was in danger of being evicted, his house condemned, she knew she had to help. Now that he’s the only family she’s got left, she feels more than obligated to return, and do what she can.





	Put Your Back Into It

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr awhile ago. But that site hates me so much, so it ate it. Many times. Here it is, I'm hoping to finish it up soon.

Put Your Back Into It

Katniss never thought that she’d be back. Not after everything that had happened, after everything she’d lost. When she left years ago, she’d never looked back, she wouldn’t let herself. But when she got the call two days ago that her uncle was in danger of being evicted, his house condemned, she knew she had to help. Now that he’s the only family she’s got left, she feels more than obligated to return, and do what she can. 

She has no idea how bad the situation is when she leaves the hotel. She called him to let him know she’d be there early this morning, and had taken his answering grunt as confirmation that he understood. When she parks her rental, and slips out of her car to walk up to the house, she feels light headed for a moment. This is not the home she remembers, in any way.

She feels her eyes widen and her jaw drop slowly as she shuffles up the sidewalk leading to his porch. 

The entire house should be burned to the ground, along with everything in it.

She’ll never voice that out loud, but she definitely agrees with the city that Haymitch can’t live here. It can’t be safe...or sanitary.

The house is in disrepair, it looks like a hail storm had done some damage to the paint job, and it was never redone. The driveway has three separate vehicles in it, all with mismatching parts and rusted finish; she assumes none of them will ever run again. There is a pile of tires to her right, rims and even a stray car door in the middle of the front yard. The grass is knee-high and full of weeds. An old oak, the one that used to hold her favorite swing as a child, still stands tall, but several branches have died, and frayed ropes dangle sadly from one. 

She keeps walking to the front door, and pulls her mask of indifference around her like a shroud, ignoring how the steps dip and creak under her meager weight. There is no storm door anymore, only a wooden one, which she knocks on loudly, after trying the bell.

It takes a few minutes, but finally she hears some shuffling, and then muffled cursing, when finally the locks disengage and the door creaks open slightly. Wide enough for her to, at least, make out Haymitch’s unshaven face, complete with stringy hair and bloodshot eyes. 

“Thought I’d seen the last of you, sweetheart. What the hell are you doing here?”

She forgot how much him calling her sweetheart rankled, but she brushes it off and narrows her eyes, “Don’t start Haymitch. You knew damn well I was coming.”

He almost smiles, she can still tell, even through all the whiskers obscuring his expression. Then he shoves the door back, and sweeps his arm behind him, inviting her into his home.

Oh god, the smell. What the hell is that?  
She doesn’t flinch outwardly as she surreptitiously looks around her. There are piles of junk everywhere, there isn’t even a floor anymore. Clothes, books, old newspapers, trinkets and just...trash. They have more of a pathway to follow in between the towering garbage. She makes her way through it, glad that she’s in her work jeans and an old tee, with her hair back in a braid. 

She moves as quickly as she can, trying to use her hands as little as possible, back to the kitchen. She has to get that cleared, as well as a bedroom and the bathroom, in order for Haymitch to get an extension for the rest. And she has four days to do it. 

Through the living room, and what used to be the dining room, she comes to what should be the kitchen. 

Okay, well at least I know where the smell is coming from now.

It’s more disgusting than she had ever dreamed of. She knows that something, probably more than one honestly, has died in this room and it’s rotting carcass is still here. She cannot see the floor here either, though she knows it used to be a beautiful tile. The counters are also obscured in here, by more garbage, spoiled and rotten food lay everywhere. 

Haymitch grunts again behind her, and she doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s frowning, “They can’t make me get out.”

Katniss, still in a state of shock answers in a hollow voice, “Yes, Haymitch, they can and they will. This is a serious problem. We’ve got to get this cleaned up.” She has no idea how they’re going to accomplish that though. It’s too much, far too much for the two of them, and she suspects Haymitch will lock himself away somewhere with a bottle and she won’t see him again until nightfall.

So really it’s all on her. Again. 

She can feel herself starting to hyperventilate so she forces herself to take deep breaths in through her nose, even though the smell is so acrid it burns. She crosses her arms to hide her shaking hands and closes her eyes for a moment, to recite the mantra she’s used for the last five years to regain control.

My name is Katniss Everdeen.  
I am 23 years old.  
I had a sister, but she’s gone.  
I had a mother, but she’s gone.  
My only family left is Haymitch.  
I am back in District 12 to help him.

He’s grumbling behind her, starting to get agitated, “It’s not even that bad!”

Her eyes snap open incredulously and she gapes at him, gesturing to where the stove should be, “Haymitch, how do you even cook your food? You can’t get to the oven! It’s buried under too many health violations to use!”

He looks at her, shocked for a moment, before shoving her to the side and wading his way passed her. He shuffles some things around and pulls out a hot plate, balancing it on top of way too many flammable things, “I use this whenever I need to heat something up, but most of the time I don’t even need it. I can eat just about anything cold.”

It’s at that moment that Katniss starts to realize the messy part isn’t the house, it’s him. He’s delusional, he’s sick. Not in the same way that her mother was, but similar. Somehow, that changes things. Somehow, she understands a little better. She can relate, after all. 

She softens her voice, “I know you can, Haymitch, but it isn’t safe. Some foods you have to warm up to eat, and in this kitchen it isn’t safe to warm up anything right now. Let’s just work on this room today, okay?”

She can hear herself sounding like her sister, practically feel her presence there now, and for once it doesn’t only bring pain. She’s a little comforted, and she knows Prim would be proud. 

Haymitch doesn’t say anything, so she takes that as his agreement. She has to make a few calls, and doesn’t want to do it where he can hear her, plus she’s gonna need some things to make any kind of difference. Internally she starts making a list of what she’ll need to pick up, and tells Haymitch she’ll be right back.

She moves back through the heaping mess to the front door, wedges it open with her shoulder and slips back outside, and pulls her phone out of her pocket. Now that she is moving, a plan starting to form, she feels much better. The complete shock of the squalor Haymitch is living in made her feel worthless and guilty, but she forces those emotions down and focuses on the task at hand, no matter how hopeless she knows it is.

About an hour later, she’s pulling back up to the house, her car laden down with lots of bleach, a shovel, brooms and mops, plenty of rags and scrubbing pads, boxes of industrial strength trash bags, gloves and anything else she thought might help.

There’s another car there, though. It’s nice, a pleasing shade of green, and very well taken care of. She feels panic clawing up her throat as she heaves her first load of supplies into her arms, and hurries up to the house. Now that she knows how bad the entire situation is, she is legitimately afraid Haymitch will be homeless before she leaves, and they may try and evaluate his mental state..

What if it’s someone from the city? They said we had four more days! 

When she rushes in the door, she immediately wants to turn around and run. It isn’t someone from the city, or any kind of government official at all. No doctor there to evaluate anyone. 

No, it’s someone much, much worse. It’s the one person she was convinced she’d never see again

“Hello Katniss. I’m surprised to see you here.”

It’s Peeta Mellark.


End file.
